Nearby

Across Messick Road, a handful of employees at Bill Forrest Seafood are busy processing the catches from 22 watermen—crab and fish of all kinds. Owner Bill Forrest Jr., whose grandfather started the business in 1941, is a gruff but honest man. “I work all day, every day,” he says. His face is a testament to his work ethic, weathered and red, with a childhood scar that curls down his cheek before disappearing into a salt-and-pepper beard. His nine trucks will haul the day’s catch to grocery retailers and seafood shops along the Atlantic coast, but walk-in customers are welcome and receive the same wholesale price that he gives to stores.

Despite the recession, Forrest says his workload is as heavy as ever. “I don’t want to be like my father and granddaddy and work till the day I die,” he says. “It’s the life I chose, and I support my family and pay my bills. What more could a man ask?” He has two daughters, both skilled sailors, but he doesn’t want them to take his place. Forrest plans to put in another 10 to 15 years then sell most of the land around his business, which he owns outright, and hold on to one parcel. “I want to maybe build me a restaurant and give it to my two girls,” he says.

A favorite hangout among working fishermen is Owens Marina Restaurant. Most tie up at the dock in back when Owens opens at 6:30 a.m. and grab breakfast before putting out to sea. For some watermen, however, that’s way too late. Ken Diggs Jr., last in a long line of family fishermen, rises at 3:30 every morning and is underway by 4:15. After running a line of crab pots on the water, he’ll dock around noon and sell the day’s catch. Then it’s back to work, prepping the next day’s pots. That’s been his daily routine since graduating from high school three years ago. “When my dad graduated, there were more than 30 fishermen in his class,” he says, “but I’m the only fisherman in my graduating class.” That fact chafes him. He contends that misinformation about the “endangered” crab population has needlessly scared watermen away.

Crabs or no crabs, there is plenty of waterfowl: egrets, ducks and blue herons all pick through the surrounding marshland, providing postcard scenes for nature lovers. At high tide, marsh water creeps up until it is inches away from flooding the Wythe Creek Bridge.